


A Prelude to Leaving

by iamfitzwilliamdarcy



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5466182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/pseuds/iamfitzwilliamdarcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leaving can be just as hard as getting left. Missing scenes as Gabe prepares to leave the island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prelude to Leaving

Today’s the day I’m going to tell them, and I’m stalling. Tommy knows it, and he shoves me a little, friendly though. 

“You’re going to have to face them at some point,” he says, and I know he’s right, but it’s not his family he’s facing; he’d told them last week. “And now that everything’s official with Berringer—” 

“I know,” I say and shove him back. 

I gave Berringer my notice today, agreeing to stay on two more weeks. Leaving for the mainland was becoming more real, which meant having to tell Finn and Puck was also becoming more real. It was the only thing that dampened my excitement, and I couldn’t even tell them about the house.

The worry that’d weighed heavy on me for months would nearly kill Finn with anxiety, and Puck would panic in her own, angry way. No, it was best not to tell them. 

Coming home was normal, which made me antsy. My usual siblings up to their usual activities, and here I was about to disrupt that. 

It goes about as well as I expected, though Puck throws me for a loop, entering the races. I’m so mad at her I almost don’t notice Finn still sitting at the table, gripping it’s edges, looking like he’s shrunk in the span of just a few minutes, swallowed up by a sweater I know is mine and the sudden anxiety that’s descended on him. 

He’s grown up a lot, but it’s still hard for me to see him as anything but little anyway. He’s worrying at his lip with his teeth and I wonder how much longer ‘til he starts picking at them or his arms with his fingers. I tried cutting his nails once, last year, but it didn’t help much. 

“Finn,” I say, and he jumps, startled, but he stops chewing his lip. He looks at me, and for once, I’m not sure what he’s thinking except that he looks small and wounded. Before I can say anything else, he jumps up from the table and barricades himself in the bathroom. 

I go sit outside, watching the night get dark, sure he won’t actually manage to drown himself, though I know it could be hours before I see him again. It’ll be hours before I should be worried, but I catch myself biting at my nails and smelling fish, and wonder if maybe these things run in families. 

I go inside when it gets so cold I start to shiver, but don’t go to bed until I hear Finn move from the bath to banging around in our room. Puck hasn’t emerged from her room, and I hope she’s sleeping. I give Finn a few moments to pretend he’s already asleep if he doesn’t want to talk to me, before following in after him. 

He’s curled up in bed, hair oil free though he’s wearing the same sweater, cuffs pushed up slightly, and pinching at his wrist, hard and fast and I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose or doesn’t even realize. 

“Finn,” I say sharply, worried he might bruise himself. He stills, then rolls over to face me.

“If Puck races, will she die?” he asks.

“No,” I say, sitting down on his bed instead of mine. His fingers are dangerous close to his red wrist.

“If she does,” he insists, “will you still go?”

“She won’t,” I say.

“Why are you leaving?” he blurts out, and the unspoken “me” hangs in the air.

“I have to,” I tell him, and he gives me a look that reminds me of Mum.

“No you don’t.”

He doesn’t understand yet, is still too young, but I have to. I say so, and his hand inches back to his wrist because he can’t counter any of that. He looks a little stricken too, like he’s just lost everything in one fell swoop. Maybe he has. 

He’s scared, I think, scared and young and doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. I’m sure I’m going to get years of Purgatory for putting that look on his face.

A moment later, I see blood well up from a little crescent shape, and I snatch up his hand and hold it, scared too, of what else he might do. He doesn’t cry though, just sits there in silence, and I cradle his hand until he falls asleep.

  

*************

I stick around in the morning just long enough for Finn to wake up. He’s going about his normal morning routine, though he seems to be taking longer than usual (and how he even manages that, I don’t know, but Finn is Finn), so I figure that means he’s coping okay and head off to work. 

I stop by the Grattons during my lunch break, and Beech wants to know how it went. 

“Well,” I tell him, “I’m staying ‘til the end of the Race now.” 

He looks at me and I continue, “Puck’s decided she’s going to race and get her damn self killed.”

I turn suddenly to his mother, who’s working on some order payments nearby. I know she heard though. “There’s gotta be a rule, right?” I say. “Don’t let her race.” 

Peg looks up at me and shakes her head. “No rule against it,” she says. “If she wants to sign up, I can’t stop her.”

“You can’t let her,” I repeat, and Peg shakes her head.

“Sorry, honey. I’ll talk to her, though.”

It’s the best I’ve got for now, so I settle for it.

“You told Tommy yet?” Beech asks, and I nod.

“This morning.” I didn’t tell him why, though I’m sure he’ll figure it out soon enough. “I think he’s at the beaches now; decided if we were gonna be here for the races he might as well race. 

Beech grunts, and that’s that. He’s staying too. 

I linger for a little bit longer until it’s time to drag myself back to work. 

“Black-Eyed Girl tonight?” Beech asks me, and I nod. I could use a drink. 

Tommy shows up at the pub that night and says, “I saw your sister at the beach today.”

“I expect you did,” I say, and because I’m already a few beers in, it comes out nearly as disapproving and unconcerned as I was aiming for. “She thinks she’s racing.”

Tommy laughs a little and I wonder how he’s always so carefree. “Looks like she was.”

“She get a horse?” I ask, and Tommy shrugs.

“Hadn’t when I last saw her, but that was early still. Heard she almost got on a crazy mare, though.”

“She’s going to get herself killed,” I say because it’s still stuck on my mind, and I haven’t told this to Tommy yet. And because of the beer I’ve had, “She’s going to die and Finn won’t have anyone. I can’t afford to bring him to the mainland yet.” 

“He won’t die on his own,” Beech says. “And anyway, Thisby takes care of her orphans. Someone’ll look out for him. Old Dory Maud or even my folks. My dad was looking for an apprentice when I’m gone.” 

“Finn can’t stand blood,” I tell him. “And he’s an anxious mess.” 

Beech takes a sip of beer. “Well,” he says, “no use worrying when we know neither you or your sister is gonna change your minds.”

Tommy pats my shoulder, though; he has younger siblings too. 

I say, “I hate this place,” and Beech grunts, and I know he’s indifferent, and Tommy keeps patting me, but I know he loves this place. We’re a spectrum of the Thisby boys, we are, and we are leaving and it can’t come soon enough.

 

*************

 

“You’re distancing yourself,” Peg Gratton tells me one night while I’m over. “Making it easier to leave them.”

I don’t go home most nights these days, and when I do it’s late. I stay at Tommy’s sometimes, but Beech’s mostly.

“No, I’m not,” I say, but I think she’s probably right. Peg Gratton is usually right.

“Yes, you are,” she says. “When’s the last time you talked to either of them, hmm?”

I want to tell her about the stilted conversation I had with Finn two days ago before leaving for work, or how I tried to talk with Puck but she was already asleep so I just stood staring at her because I didn’t know how to broach the gap that was widening between us, but the words get stuck in my throat and it’s probably a good thing. 

“How much does he talk anyway?” Beech asks, and I say, “You’re one to talk,” and it devolves from there.

I keep thinking about what Peg Gratton’s said, though. Her words stay with me, but I still stay away from home.

I go to confession, though, heart weighed down with guilt about how I’m handling all this. I don’t mean to, but as soon as the words “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” are out of my mouth, I start to cry, heaving sobs that leave me gasping for air and dying for a drink of water. 

I can’t remember the last time I cried at all, much less like this, and I’m humiliated, but Father Mooneyham is patient and kind; he’s seen it all, I’m sure. He even offers me a handkerchief through the curtain.

I’m almost too embarrassed to speak after I’ve calmed down, but Father prompts me, and I manage to spill my secrets. I’ve been uncaring towards my siblings, I drink too much, I spend money on drink that could help feed Finn and Puck, I lied, and so on and so forth. 

Father is quiet for a while when I’ve finished, and I’m worried that I’ve managed to silence him. I almost wonder if he’s fallen asleep except that Father Mooneyham, while old, takes his vocation very seriously. 

Finally, I hear him rustle behind the curtain, and he says, “In what ways are you being uncaring towards your siblings?” 

“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t see them much, I guess.” 

“That’s not a sin, Gabriel,” he tells me. He didn’t see the look on Finn’s face, though. He didn’t force Puck into the races (and even as I think it, I get hot and angry again because she’s the one trying to force me to stay).

“I’ve messed everything up, leaving,” I say. “I don’t know if it’s right anymore.”

I can feel the tears prickling in my eyes again, tightness threatening my throat.

“You’ve thought long and hard about this decision though, correct?” Father says. “Prayed about it?”

“Yes,” I say, and it’s not a lie. I’ve agonized over it for months, even talked it over with Father himself. 

“Then you’ve made your choice,” he says. “You don’t feel there’s any other option for you?” 

I shake my head though he can’t see it. “I can’t stay,” I say. Even the thought of staying feels suffocating, and that’s without thinking about our money problems.

“Okay then,” Father says. “You’re making your decision.”

“But that means Kate’s riding in the races, and I could stop it if I don’t go.” It’s the first time I’ve realized she has actually managed to guilt me, and if I weren’t sitting in a confessional right now, I’m sure I’d curse her. 

“You can’t control other people’s choices,” Father says. “She can’t blackmail you into staying.”

We both know that’s not quite what she’s doing, but it feels like it to me, a little. “She doesn’t have to race,” I say.

“And she, I’m sure, thinks you don’t have to leave,” Father says. He sounds exhausted. “Is that all?” 

“Yes,” I say. 

For my penance, he tells me to pray for Finn and Puck, which is easy enough. As I’m getting up to go, though, he stops me with a question, “Don’t you want to be a priest?”

“A long time ago, Father,” I say. Back when I was 15 and life was simpler and getting off the island was as easy as joining the Jesuits and being a missionary. Back before I realized the only priest I knew was stuck in his tiny parish on his tiny island and thought that maybe most priests don’t travel much after all. 

“Yes,” Father echoes, remembering I’m older now. “Yes, a long time ago.” 

He sounds sad. 

************* 

I run into Finn at the Scorpio Festival, holding a small wad of money. I almost don’t recognize him beneath his blackened face. I’m surprised to see him there, sure that he would have thought such revelry a danger to his soul, and I’m still a little shaken from Kate’s confrontation too. 

That’s why the first thing that I manage to do is to snap out, “Put that away.” And then I add, nicer because he looks a little hurt and startled, “Don’t let people see. There are thieves in Thisby.”

“Hoo boy,” Tommy says, peering over my shoulder, as if to prove my point. “Where’d you get pretty sum of money like that?”

I elbow Tommy away because Finn looks a little crowded where he’d looked pleased only moments ago. You have to know him to see the smile in his eyes because he’s bad at actual smiling, but it was there, replaced now with a slightly wild, caged look. It’s the only time I think he looks like Puck. I resist the urge to sling an arm over his shoulder, like I used to when he was littler and we were better friends; now, he’s picky about affection in public. I guess I am too.

“Sold the Morris,” he says. “Where’s Puck?”

I can feel my face close off, and I don’t know if I want it to or not. It feels like I’m shutting down and that scares me.

“I don’t know,” I say because I don’t want to talk about Puck. “Around.”

I should ask him why he sold the Morris, but I don’t. I get the feeling Puck didn’t tell him about the house either, and I boil inside at the unfairness of that.

“Okay,” he says. He pockets the money hurriedly and slips back in the crowd.

I almost follow him, but Tommy and I were headed to Beech’s to wait out the rest of the festival, so we do that instead. 

*************

I walk out of church the next day, in the middle of Mass, startling Beech and even myself. I could feel every eye on me as I left, Puck’s and Finn’s and Father Mooneyham’s and everyone else, but I ignored it as best I could.

I feel a little bad not genuflecting, but I move too quickly for that, willing my cheeks not to flush under the scrutiny. I think I’ve moved calmly, dignified, as if it’s totally natural and not at all a big deal. At least, I hope so. 

I’m halfway down the street when Beech catches up with me, huffing a little. 

“What was that?” he asks.

I shrug. “Father’s homily was running long.”

“Father’s homily never runs long. You just didn’t like what he was talking about.” 

I honestly don’t know what he was talking about because I’d stopped paying attention sometime during the first reading. “Don’t act like you were listening,” I tell Beech, who scowls at me.

“I was,” he insists. “What are you so late to that you keep checking your watch?”

“I want to see Sean Kendrick,” I say. “Without anyone around.”

News travelled fast to the butcher’s shop last night from the rider’s parade, and we, of course, had the first-hand gossip from Tommy.

“What are you going to say to him?” Beech wants to know.

“I don’t know,” I say, annoyed. “Maybe not anything. I just want to see him.”

I can’t decide if I feel annoyed or grateful or mad towards quiet Sean Kendrick. I lean towards mad. 

“You think there’s something going on between him and Puck?” 

I shrug, thinking about the utter strangeness of wild, fierce Puck being interested in a boy. Maybe I’m being unfair, but I’m not sure Sean Kendrick should be the one to change that. 

When I see him sprinkling dirt on a cliffs in the distance overlooking the sea, trailed by one of the Americans I’ve seen at the hotel some, I know Sean Kendrick’s the only one. 

I don’t know how that makes me feel, so I turn away. 

“Come on,” I tell Beech, “Let’s find Tommy.” 

He follows with a grunt that lets me know he knows what I’m thinking, but doesn’t say any more than that, and I’m grateful for Beech’s silence. Tommy will fill us with chatter soon enough, but right now, my head is too full for talk. 

We find Tommy on the beach, holding the reigns of his horse and staring out to sea. He’s quieter than I expected.

“Storm’s coming,” he says when we come up behind him. I’m careful to keep my distance from the horse, which is quivering, tense.

Tommy turns to us, focuses in on me, “Puck’s not going to have a good time of it this afternoon.”

“Yeah?” I say, trying to keep myself from clenching my jaw. It bothers me that the men want to hassle her, but if it keeps her from racing, I’m not sure it’d be so bad. 

Tommy nods. “I’m going along with the boys,” he says. “Make sure they don’t go too far.” 

I say thanks and he just nods again. 

“Be careful getting home tonight,” he tells me as we start to leave. He’s turned back out, looking at the sea, and I remember he’s old Thisby. He’s this island as much as Sean Kendrick is, if only for a moment, and I’m not sure why he’s leaving. 

I say okay, and Beech and I leave him. I manage to make it home before Puck and Finn coming back from Mass.

*************

I get off work late, and Tommy meets me at the hotel. I think maybe he wants to get a drink until I notice that he’s wringing his hands and fidgeting from foot to foot. It’s weird to see such a serious look on his face, and I can feel fear rising in my chest. I squash it back down.

“What is it?” I ask instead of saying hi. “Is it Puck? What happened this afternoon?”

He shakes his head. “I think I saw a _capaill_ _uisce_ heading towards your house,” he says. “I brought my car.”

Night is falling, and the fear makes grows again, swelling around my ribs, gripping my heart.

“Let’s go,” I say.

We make it just in time to see a black water horse running from the barn; I must make some noise because Tommy’s hand is on my shoulder. He’s squinting into the distance, but then he says, “It’s not chasing a person,” and I breathe again. 

I find them in the shed, and Puck’s already moving; she gets Dove, I get Finn, and we’re moving back to Tommy. Finn doesn’t seem to notice me, but he stumbles along and gets into the car, and that’s enough for me right now.

I don’t breathe again until we get to Beech’s house. Puck follows Beech to put Dove in the barn, and we go inside. The warmth of familiarity seeps into me, and I relax, feeling safe. Finn, who’s been practically glued to my side, notices and he steps away, looking a little panicked. 

He tugs on my sleeve from the new, short distance, gives me an imploring look. I tell him where the bathroom is, but his eyes skitter nervously over the others, so I sigh and lead him there. He slams the door shut as soon as we get there, and I wait until I here water running and the splashing that tells me he’s washing his hands before heading back.

I end up sharing a bed with Puck that night, and it’s the first time we’ve talked, really, since the Scorpio Festival. It goes about as well as it did then, and I’m left shaken as she falls asleep. There’s nothing like a little sister to disarm you. 

Except, of course, a little brother. I can hear Finn in the next room, over Beech’s snoring and Tommy’s heavy breathing, shuffling slightly on the couch, still awake. I’m surprised I can pick out the sound, but I guess I’ve been sleeping next to him long enough to know. 

Puck’s sound asleep next to me, and I don’t wake her as I slip out of bed. The others don’t wake either as I sneak into where they’re sleeping. Only Finn, still up, acknowledges that I’ve come in. He stares at me with accusing eyes, and I’m not sure I’ve recovered enough from Puck’s cross-examination to handle this.

Still, I gesture towards the kitchen, and after a moment, he gets up, blanket slipping from his shoulders and follows me. I busy myself pouring him some water; I consider making tea. Peg wouldn’t mind, but I don’t want to wake anyone up, so I decide against it.

I set a glass in front of him, and he adjusts his blanket, staring down a the table. It’s not until I sit down across from him, sipping from my own water glass, that he looks up.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” I say, and it’s unusual, me starting conversations and him not talking.

But he ignores me and says instead, looking up at me, finally, “You stay here all the time.” 

“Yeah,” I agree, uneasy. I didn’t really expect Finn to feel this betrayed. To be honest, I didn’t really expect Kate to accuse me of such apathy towards them either. It’s making me reevaluate how often I’ve been home.

I realize I don’t know at all what Finn’s been up to lately. The last thing I remember him taking apart is that chainsaw, and I don’t know if he’s finished or moved on. He must have fixed the Morris, to sell it, but now what?

  
I feel suddenly ashamed, like I’ve neglected them, and clear my throat. Finn’s not looking at me anymore, staring, instead, into his water like it holds the secrets of the world.

“Yeah,” I repeat. “I guess I have. I’m sorry.”

He sneaks a quick peek at me, an eye movement so rapid I almost don’t catch it.

“Okay,” he says, softly. Then, “I think Puffin got away.” I don’t know which has been bothering him more—worry over that damn cat or feeling hurt by me. 

“I hope so,” I say, and I do. I also hope it’s the cat and not me. 

*************

 

I come home one night after work and drinks to find the house spotless. I come to a full stop at the entrance, taking it in. Our house does not do clean like this. I don’t think it’s ever been this spotless, even before Mom and Dad died.

I get my bearings and go immediately to check on Finn. This has his name all over it. But he’s not in his room. I start to panic until I realize his mattress isn’t there either. I’m so relieved I take a moment to sit down on his bed frame and cradle my head in my hands.

It’s been a tense few weeks, I think.

I get up again, quieter this time, slower, and peek into Puck’s room. She’s sprawled across her bed, fast asleep, her covers half-kicked off. Finn’s dragged his mattress into the room; I can see his dark curly hair peeping out from under his blanket.

It’s cramped, now, but I step carefully towards Puck and pull her covers back up. I linger there a minute, suddenly not sure what I feel. I push her hair back and she looks like Mom and I am going to lose her too, no matter what happens in the Races.

I remember when she was just a little kid and six years felt worlds away and she’d chatter on to me about her day. She grew up, but she never quite grew out of her wildness. She can’t go and I can’t stay.

I feel eyes watching me as I take my hand away from Kate’s forehead, and I startle, turning quickly, but it’s just Finn, blinking at me with sleepy eyes. 

I go over and kneel next to his mattress on the floor. I want to ask how he’s doing, but instead I tell him, whispering to not wake up Puck, “Go back to sleep.”

He sits up and shakes his head, still blinking the sleep away.

This catches me off guard, and I rock back onto my heels. “Okay,” I say. “Do you want some tea?”

He nods, and I wonder if he’s had a bad dream or something. He glances at Puck as I stand, but follows me out, quickly, close to my side.

There’s only enough tea for one cup, so I split it between us; it’s weak, but at least it’s something.  I give it to him, and he clasps his hands around the mug. I sit down next to him on the couch. We sip our tea; or, I guess, I sip my tea and try not to grimace at how it tastes only like hot water, and he just sits there, clutching his mug close to him.

“I got worried about Puck, is all,” he says eventually.

“Yeah?” 

He nods, staring carefully into his cup. I realize suddenly that he’s crying, his hands shaking. I set my cup on the floor and gently take his from his hands. I set it aside and hold his hands.

“Hey,” I say. And again, until he looks at me. “Puck’s in her room,” I tell him, keeping my voice soft. “She’s fine.” 

He nods. “I know, I know. I just—I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

I don’t know either, and I’m not like Puck, can’t come up with stories the way she does, so I just wrap an arm around him, pull him close, let him cry against me.

It’s a long cry, one that’s been building for a while. I try to remember the last time I saw Finn cry; there was the funeral of course, and he had nightmares for a little while after Mom and Dad died, would wake up with tears in his eyes. But it’s been a while since then.

Eventually, he sniffles, snuggles closer to my side like he used to when he was younger, before he got iffy about touch. “You smell like Dad,” he says.

“I smell like fish,” I tell him, glancing down.

He’s still crying a bit, tears leaking through red, puffy, closed eyes, but he seems more relaxed.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles. “So did Dad.” Then, “Are we gonna be okay?” 

“Yeah,” I say, squeezing him a little. “We’re gonna be just fine.” I almost offer to bring him to the mainland with me, but I’m not sure if he’s a stayer or a goer; he could be either, I think. 

He’s quiet again, and I play with hair idly; he needs a haircut, I think, but I don’t remember where our scissors are—if we even still have any. When I look down again, he’s fast asleep, curled up into my side.

I carry him back to his mattress. He’s taller than I remember, ganglier, heavier, but he still seems so young.

Puck stirs as I settle Finn back under his covers. She mumbles something, blinking at me blearily, and I whisper at her to go back to sleep. She does, turning over, and I doubt she’ll remember this in the morning. 

I sit against the door jamb of Puck’s room and watch them sleep. I don’t know if I feel close or distant to them. I fall asleep there, thinking about it, but am up before either of them the next morning.

*************

 

I know how Finn feels when Kate tells me a week later that Tommy is dead. She’s come straight to the hotel from the beach, hair windswept and face gritty with sand, Sean Kendrick half a step behind her, holding Dove’s reins.

She’s serious and grim, but she grabs my hand when she delivers the news. I feel like half my world’s fallen apart. I can feel the blood rushing in my head, the opening in my chest. 

Berringer hears, and he grips my shoulder. “You take the rest of the day off, and go on home, son,” he tells me, and shakes his head. “A damn shame.” 

I blink at him. “Okay,” I say. 

I look back to Kate, who seems to be waiting for something. “I need to tell Beech,” I say. 

She nods. “Do you want me to come with you?” 

I shake my head. “No. I’ll see you tonight.” 

She nods again, and turns back to Sean Kendrick, drawing my attention back to him. I have a sudden, strong urge to punch, hard in the face because he loves my sister and with the same heart loves those monsters that just killed Tommy, that killed our parents. 

I clench my fists, and turn away, up the road to the Butchers. The cold wind stings my face and it feels good, distracts me from the pain that’s opened inside me. 

“I know,” Beech says, when I come inside. His face is as blank as mine feels. “I know.” 

“We were going to have dinner tonight,” I say, words tumbling out automatically, without my consent. “Before the Races. Everybody over.” 

Beech already knows this. I’d invited both him and Tommy that morning, before Tommy disappeared down to the beach and me to the hotel, leaving Beech here to his work.

“I know,” Beech says again. A few tears slip down his face, like sap weeping out of a tree, and I find I’m startled by that. 

I reach out and pull him into a hug. He’s solid and stiff, like a plank of wood, but he returns the hug, even if slowly. We break apart after a moment, and his tears are gone, but I still feel lost. 

“Boys,” Tom Gratton comes in, looking sad beneath his beard, clapping a hand to my shoulder, resting one on his own son’s head. “I’ve just spoken with Norman Falk.”

“Does he know?” I ask, and Tom nods gravely. 

“Yes. Says he hasn’t gotten home to tell the family yet, but the funeral will most likely be tomorrow evening. ‘Fore the races, he wants it.” 

I stay a little longer, even let Tom force a cup of tea on me, until we have confirmation of when and where the funeral is. 

“An old Thisby family,” Tom reminds us, and I nod. I’ve been to the Falks before; so has Beech. 

“Let me give you a ride home, Gabriel,” Tom says. I almost protest, but I see how sad he looks, realize Tommy’s death has shaken him, and nod. Besides, I’m not sure I could walk all the way home on my own. 

I don’t know what to do when I get home, so I go lay down in my bed. I can dimly hear Finn and Puck talking in the her room, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I’m not sure I care. 

Puck peeks in at me once or twice, but I don’t acknowledge her. She doesn’t say anything, just looks. Finn brings me a cup of water once, pats my head like a puppy, and disappears again. 

I don’t know if I sleep. I think I probably dozed off for a little bit, but I don’t feel rested. I feel restless and awful, like my grief has only grown overnight. I don’t know if I can even get out of bed. I hear Puck moving around, then leaving. 

I'm nor sure how long I lay there after that until I force myself up. I’m antsy, desperate to be distracted, so I go outside and start clearing debris. Puck comes home, but she and Finn leave again, so I just work and work, wondering if this is the sort of gnawing desperation Finn felt last week when he cleaned the whole house. 

But Tommy doesn’t come back. Tommy is still dead. 

Finn and Kate come with me to the funeral, but Kate slips away; I don’t really notice. Finn sticks by my side. He feels out of place, nervous, and worried, and on some level I know I should probably say something to him, but I can’t think of any words. It’s hard to get out of my head. 

Beech sidles up to me at one point, hands me a flask. “To Tommy,” I say, toasting it. I take a small sip and hand it back to Beech. 

He pours some on the ground. “For Tommy,” he echoes. Then, “Are you still going?” 

I nod. Things haven’t changed even though everything has. 

*************

 

“The Race is tomorrow,” Finn reminds me. We’re sitting on the front steps; Puck’s already gone to bed. 

“Yeah,” I say. 

He smacks my shoulder and I look over at him. He’s staring at me with serious eyes, and for the first time I don’t see him as just my baby brother. He looks older, and I realize he’s been growing up and I’ve been underestimating him.   

“She needs us,” he says.

“I know." 

I also know that’s his way of telling me to pull myself together, so I draw in a deep breath, ruffle his hair, and repeat, “I know,” then add, “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll be there.” 

He gives me a smile, doesn’t even try to hide it, and it’s his turn to say, “I know.”

He turns serious again, though, and says, “I’m sorry about Tommy.” 

“Thanks,” I say. I pause before I add, “I’m sorry about how I handled all of this.” He’s the youngest, and I don’t know how to explain these things to him.

“It’s okay,” he says. I’m not sure that it is, but like everything else, it’s the best we’ve got, and it seems good enough for him. 

“Go get some sleep,” I tell him. 

He gets up and goes inside, and I follow him inside not long after. He won’t get much sleep, I know, but I hope it’s at least more than me.

 

*************

The Races are tense and intense, and I’m glad that Finn is with me, though I’d rather none of us be here at all. 

Finn clutches my arm, even though he thinks he’s too old for that now, and it hurts, but it keeps me grounded. And I’m glad it’s keeping him from pinching at himself. 

“She’s gonna do it,” he says to me, wide eyed, leaning forward, watching. “She’s gonna win!”

And she does do it, and I almost can’t believe it. Finn actually lets out a cheer next to me, and I laugh, relief flooding through me. It’s over, it’s all over, and something’s gone right for once. 

“I’m gonna go find her,” Finn says. 

“Be careful,” I tell him, and he makes a face at me. “Come home soon, I’m going to cook dinner.” 

His face lights up at that. “A big one?”

“A feast,” I tell him, and laugh again. 

He laughs with me, and I wonder when the last time I heard him laugh was, before he darts away, swallowed up by the crowd. 

So we eat and it’s nice and we can almost pretend things aren’t changing, but I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon and have to pack. I don’t finish, but when Kate goes to Malvern’s the next morning, I’m done. I don’t have much. 

She looks at my bags when she gets back and sighs. “I guess it’s time.” 

“You’re coming?” I ask, and she glares at me. 

It makes me smile, impulsively, and she stomps away, to fuss in the kitchen while Finn fusses over my two bags, checking and double checking. 

“I’ve got everything,” I tell him, and he makes a face before checking one last time. 

“Alright,” he concedes. “I guess you do.”

“And now that I have Finn’s approval, it’s time I get going,” I say. 

Puck marches ahead of me, and Finn trails behind, insisting on carrying at least one of my bags. The Grattons are already at the docks when we get there. I shake Tom’s hand, give Peg a peck on the cheek, then turn to my own family.

They both come at me at the same time, and I wrap my arms around them. “I’ll send money,” I promise. “And I’ll come visit.” 

Puck draws back a little, says threateningly, “You’d better, Gabe Connolly.” 

I kiss the top of her head, ruffle Finn’s hair, and then I’m on the boat, waving goodbye to them.

“You ready?” Beech says, leaning on the boat railing next to me. 

“As I’ll ever be,” I say, staring at the water. 

No horses look back at me; it’s already a new beginning.


End file.
